The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

a name (poem)

Jan
07

call me something, anything,
I used to say,
as though just having a name
was good, though it wasn’t
a name I would choose for myself

now, I know better,
or so I could hope;
feel the flutter— my chest
filled with butterflies,
their wings never reaching
my stomach
(they don’t look down,
but I do; I do
whatever it takes
to reach up,
to pray):

call me something, anything,
but only the names
I choose

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